


glorioser

by Kr_ys (orphan_account)



Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Denial of Feelings, F/F, F/M, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Government Problems AU, Love/Hate, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Strong Female Characters, apocalypse au, dystopian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 01:09:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13776483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Kr_ys
Summary: [temporary title; may or may not be changed][set in a dystopian!au with the characters of hamilton: the broadway musical]Thomas Jefferson never had to beg, steal, borrow, or barter from anyone.He'd lived his entire life with a roof over his head, and more than he needed to survive.Enough to allow him to thrive and enjoy life while others struggled.But karma ran its course and soon found him.Thomas works for the government.And they've found out some of his secrets.He's found out about a bomb they're planting in Virginia.They've warned him and told him to evacuate and not tell anyone, under any circumstances.But he went and told everyone in his neighborhood.Before he or anyone else threatened could properly pack up their things and leave,The bomb arrived. It was a week early.Now the entirety of Virginia's blood is on his hands, and the government's under the assumption he died, as well.Thomas soon finds out that not everyone living around him died, but the ones that did will haunt him until he avenges them and makes up for the giant mistake he's made.But maybe he'll have some help in saving Virginia, or at least avenging it.





	glorioser

Thomas' eyes opened and were instantly burned by the sun, high in the sky. He must've been passed out for at least twelve hours, judging by the way his throat and lungs ached, forcing him to gasp for air, more than his nose alone could supply for him. A small coughing fit overtook him, but he regained himself a minute or two later, and weakly regained his footing.

  
His joints screamed at him to sit back down and succumb back into his coma, but he knew if he didn't find something to eat or drink, or both, the chances of him dying or legitimately slipping into a coma were very likely.

  
Thomas ran a hand through his messy, ebony mop of hair, loosely flowing onto his shoulders. He could care less about his physical appearance for now, but at the same time, he grimaced at how disheveled and disgusting he probably looked. He realized he was limping on his right foot for some reason and groaned in annoyance, quickening his pace and ignoring the pain seeping up from his ankle to his calf.

  
Thomas finally lumbered towards an abandoned car, the trunk popped open, and tore desperately through the already-ripped fabrics and useless scraps here and there, before coming across an unopened soup can. He checked the expiration date. Surprisingly, it hadn't expired, but was going to within another week or so.

  
Hungrily, Thomas pried it open and glared at his own finger nails, so weak and short that they were now aching just from a short use of opening the top of the metal can. Tomato. Thomas didn't particularly care for tomato soup, in fact, in everyday life he'd specifically avoid it, but...food was food. If he was picky, he knew he'd starve by the end of the month.  
What month was it again? He pondered this in his head, blankly staring ahead and contemplating it before mentally scolding himself and focusing on getting the cold soup into his system. He tipped his head back and poured a bit into his mouth, nearly choking, the frigid red paste staining his lips.

  
His stomach thanked him, though his taste buds and esophagus did not. He wrinkled his nose at both the temperature and the taste, starting to wonder if it had expired and the date was just a lie. Thomas inclined his neck to take another ravenous mouthful.  
When suddenly a knife was pressed to his throat. A sharp blade, with several little cuts and scrapes on it, slightly bent at the tip, but still extremely sharp and deadly. Nearly cutting off his air supply. Thomas' neck was stuck in an uncomfortable position as he lowered the can of food and gave a roll of his warm brown eyes to glance at his attacker - or rather, the person violently holding a weapon against him.

  
"That's not yours. Have you no manners?" He heard a younger man's malcontent growl, making the hair on his neck stand up. He hadn't heard another human being's voice for many weeks, maybe months. Valuing his life more than some can of cold, possibly expired food, he eagerly passed the somewhat-heavy can to the threatening stranger.

  
"Of course, you had to go and eat all of it in one go," the man snapped again, lowering the knife a bit to the base of Thomas' neck. This allowed him a better view of the aggressive newcomer. He was literally at least five inches shorter than Thomas. But he was the one with the knife, so Thomas didn't dare mock him for his height or make a wrong move.

  
The shorter man's dark brown eyes glared deep into Thomas', as if staring hard into his soul and finding out all of his secrets and wrongdoings at once. Thomas hated the silence and the staring, and he finally let out a sarcastic chuckle.

  
"Take a picture, it'll last longer." The teasing remark earned him a light slash on his neck. He felt drops of blood trickle down his chest and onto his mocha-brown coat. His formerly-rigid jaw had dropped open in shock and his dark eyebrows furrowed furiously at the other.

  
"What the ****?!" Thomas gritted his teeth and tried to back away, but the knife and the man followed him another inch. "Stop moving. And quit it with that smart mouth of yours." Thomas obeyed this time, brown eyes flitting nervously between the knife and the man's pressing gaze, as if he remembered Thomas from somewhere.

  
Then, something in Thomas' mind clicked. The man's naturally ragged appearance, his unruly dark brown locks secured in a messy ponytail draping over his scrawny shoulders, the dark bags under his cold, hard eyes.

  
"Well, if it isn't Alexander Hamilton himself," Thomas sneered, finally recognizing him. "Thomas Jefferson. Surprised you haven't died yet. I'm also shocked you somehow ran out of macaroni and cheese, and your ridiculously-tailored coats. Those things aren't cheap, you know." Alexander's tone dripped with sarcasm and hostility.

  
"Will you shut up and get your blade off my throat? I like breathing comfortably, thanks. Oh, and if you would let me stop the bleeding, that'd be great too."  
Alex rolled his eyes but thankfully pulled back the knife and secured it in the pocket of his

scratched-up jeans. He eyed Thomas suspiciously as the taller man quickly grasped the collar of one of his less expensive shirts and pressed it firmly onto the shallow gash in his neck, still leaking crimson red liquid.

  
"God, this hurts," he muttered under his breath, biting his lip and tasting metal as that bled too. "Stop biting your lip, and stop digging your nails into the wound. You're making it worse," Alex advised, still in a harsh tone, and took a step forward, as if to help.

  
Thomas immediately flinched and backed away. "You're the one that inflicted this, why are you trying to help me now?" Thomas frowned, looking for answers that Alex obviously wasn't in the mood to provide.

  
The shorter man said nothing, simply shrugged indifferently. "If you want to bleed out, that's fine with me." But as Thomas gave him a pleading look, Alex sighed and again moved close to him, gently grasping Thomas' larger hands and gingerly pushing them aside.

  
Or at least he tried to. Both men gasped at the sudden contact of their hands and the electricity that seemed to resonate between them. Alex rubbed his own hands together, while Thomas clasped his back onto his wound, tight-lipped but still frowning discontentedly.

  
"Move your hands out of the way," Alex commanded, and Thomas begrudgingly listened. Alexander was hesitant to touch his hands to the other's neck, but did so, and both felt some sort of warmth pass through them. Alex gently pressed the palms of his hand onto the base of the taller man's neck, then eased his other palm onto it as well.

  
"There's a first-aid kit in my left pocket - no, not that one-" Thomas accidentally reached for the knife in his companion's pocket and Alex instinctively snarled, removing one hand from the wound and stopping Thomas' hand in its tracks. Again, a feeling of electricity shot through them both, forcing Alex to tensely shove Thomas' hand away.

  
Thomas nearly staggered, but regained his composure - and his footing. Alex reached for the kit himself, holding it onto his chest and opening it with his teeth - Thomas grimaced at that. He would've made a mocking remark like "that's bad for your teeth, y'know" but he shut his mouth. It probably wasn't best to upset the person treating your wound, even if they were the one who had caused it.  
Thomas bit his lip again as Alex allowed some kind of cleansing clear liquid dribble onto his neck wound. Blood dripped down Thomas' chin and he raised a hand to swiftly wipe it away. "Stop doing that," Alex growled again and moved Thomas' hand, his thumb caressing the blood off of the other's lips and chin.

  
Thomas did it again out of spite. Alex cursed at him, closing the first-aid kit and threatening to tackle him or perform a surgery on him to remove his teeth, or permanently separate his teeth from his lips. Thomas simply countered that Alex didn't have the technology for it, and even if he did, he didn't have the expertise or knowledge to safely pull it off. "Who said I would do it safely?" And Thomas' handconnected with Alex's face, almost instinctively.

  
The two glared at each other, Alex holding the pinkish-red mark now forming on his right cheek, while Thomas pressed a hand to the tissues and bandages secured on his neck. They stood like that for a while before Alex turned and walked away, Thomas unsure if he should follow or not. Some part of him wanted to, so he did, limping after Alex quite loudly and clumsily while the shorter, smaller man maneuvered like a cat through a winding forest, and clouds began to cover the sun, shedding momentary darkness onto the pair of polar opposites as Alex led his greatest enemy to shelter.


End file.
